


the rest

by followsrabbit



Series: together again [1]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 10:19:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followsrabbit/pseuds/followsrabbit
Summary: Noora and William, the morning after Eva's eighteenth birthday party.





	the rest

Noora is still asleep when William opens his eyes, her light blonde hair—it’s longer now than he's used to—fanned out across his pillow. Sleep tucked her head into his shoulder and draped his right arm around her back. He tightens that grip now, rests his head down on top of hers, and breathes.

If she thinks they’re ever leaving this bed, she’s insane.

His lips find her forehead. Then the side of her cheek and, through her hair, her temple. A pleased sigh floats from Noora’s lips—fucking hell, he missed her lips, he missed her face, he missed her, missed this—but she doesn’t wake yet, just molds herself closer to him, her legs around his and her chest against his.

Never fucking leaving this bed. Not even for a glass of water.

For the first time in months, his heart feels like it’s in his chest, rather than dragged bleeding from London to Oslo by air. For the first time in months, he can feel her heart beating against his chest—maybe it’s the same thing—and they’re never losing this again.

(And if Noora does ever leave again, he won't do the noble thing and just let her be like he did this time. Because he’s spent a miserable eight months telling himself that Noora is clearly happier this way, without him, why else would she have left without a word, when Noora has apparently been  _equally miserable_  the whole damn time. Which means they’ve both been miserable for almost a year for no reason whatsoever.)

Chris has been telling him to come back to Oslo since the first time William called him, a drunken mess over Noora’s disappearance. William hates admitting that his smug bastard of a best friend has been right all this time, but, well—Chris actually has a reason to be so damn smug for once.

Noora wakes up a moment later. Probably because he hasn’t been able to make himself stop murmuring kisses against every bit of her face that he can reach. Noora nestles her head deeper into his shoulder, before raising it to meet his gaze. The rest of her remains still against him, and they really could be like this all day, because William can’t imagine moving away from her willingly. Not any time soon. Not any time before she stops feeling like a dream that one loud second of London traffic could tear him from.

“Hi,” she says, smiles, whispers.

William could say  _hi_ back, but he kisses her instead. Sliding his lips against hers, William inhales the taste of her—so familiar—with slow tugs and greedy strokes. (He still says  _hi_ back when they finally pull away from each other for a mutual breath.)

She’s looking at him, her light eyes completely open now and unblinking. He’s not blinking either, just staring at her like he has been since he pulled up to Eva’s party. Memorizing her, because what if he forgot a detail in the last several months.

"We’re just going to lie here,” she tells him, “for today.”

William nips her earlobe. “All day.” he agrees, before moving onto her throat.

He can feel Noora's next swallow there. “We can figure out the rest…” she trails off as his mouth pauses on her skin.

“The rest?” They managed to talk through an impressive amount yesterday, considering that all he wanted, from the minute he saw her again, was to hold her, kiss her, touch every inch of her. 

Noora combs her fingers through his hair, guiding him into eye contact with her. “We’re staying together,” she tells him, as decisively as he’s ever heard her, “in London or long distance or here.” She’s speaking against his lips now, almost kissing him. He’d have turned her words into kisses by now if he wasn’t so desperate to hear each syllable. “We have to be together.”

William nods his chin against hers. “We do.” They really fucking do. “I… fucking hell, Noora, I need you.” Needs her to ground him, needs her to challenge him, needs her to know him, needs her to be with him.

Her lips part a breath. She nods. They’re kissing again.

(She laughs when he decides later, aloud, that they’re not leaving this apartment all weekend. That they have water, that there must be some kind of delivery service they can use for food, and that there’s always Chris if all else fails.)

He wonders if it would sound too sappy to admit that even the basic essentials like sustenance feel less essential than her right now. Than them.

She seems to hear it anyway. “I love you too,” she replies with a wide smile that he feels in his own muscles.

He spends the rest of the morning murmuring  _I love you_ into her lips, her cheeks, her shoulders, her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. Eight months is too much to make up for, but he doesn’t give up easily. Will never give this up again.

 _Good_ , Noora says, when he raises himself on all fours above her to say as much. Then she pulls him back down, her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips.

There’ll be time to say the rest later.

 


End file.
